


The (Im)patient

by mithrel



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blanket Permission, Gen, Podfic Welcome, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney is sick and John has to play nurse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Im)patient

Rodney McKay under normal circumstances was hard to take. A _sick_ Rodney McKay approached heretofore unheard-of levels of insufferability.

Any sympathy John might have had had long since gone the way of the dodo.

“I n’d s’m water,” McKay mumbled, managing to sound simultaneously pathetic and peevish.

“I gave you some five minutes ago!” John all-but-snarled.

“’M sick. Not g’d f’r me t’get dehydrated,” Rodney whined.

“It’s a _cold,_ McKay!” John retorted.

Rodney responded with a lengthy diatribe largely muffled by the blanket pulled up to his ears, but which ended with, “See’f I do you ‘ny favors!”

John sighed, and poured him another glass of water. The contented sigh Rodney made as he drank made all this almost, _almost_ worth it.

“Laptop?”

John handed it to him, hoping it’d buy him a few minutes of peace.

Exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds later the ticking of keys stopped, and Rodney said, “’M hungry.”

Of course he was. Being Rodney, not even a fever could diminish his appetite.

“Haven’t you ever heard ‘starve a cold, feed a fever’?” John demanded.

“Well, I have both. ‘N’ ‘m _hungry!_ ”

John took the excuse of getting him some dry toast and tea to dart out for a few minutes. He knew Rodney’d give him hell when he got back, but the reprieve would be worth it.

“So how’s the patient?” a voice inquired as he walked through the door.

John glared at Elizabeth Weir, standing nearby with her arm in a sling. “Take Rodney at his worst. His absolute _worst!_ Then square that.”

She only smiled quietly.

“And why isn’t he in the infirmary, anyway?”

Elizabeth sighed. “You know we’re in a triage situation. With the latest Wraith attack, the infirmary is reserved for critical patients.”

John sighed too. “Yeah, I know.” They hadn’t seen any Wraith for a couple of weeks, but the strain was telling on Weir. On all of them. He had bigger problems than a cantankerous scientist.

He briefly contemplated putting lemon in Rodney’s tea, drummed his fingers on the table, then put in a liberal dollop of honey instead. He scraped a bit of butter over the toast. Rodney would complain enough about being given tea rather than coffee. Dry toast would only compound the problem.

“Let me know if anything–”

“I will,” Elizabeth promised. “And John?” she added as he turned to leave.

When he looked over his shoulder she caught his eye for a moment. “Take care of yourself.”

He managed a smile. “You too.”

When he got back to Rodney’s room, John found he’d drifted into a fitful doze. John set the tray aside, straightened the covers, and, after a moment, smoothed back Rodney’s sweaty hair.

Rodney stirred briefly, mumbled something that sounded like, “thanks,” and lapsed back into sleep.


End file.
